


Psychotically, Irrationally, Erotically Codependent

by sexualwincest



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood Kink, Dark, Drugs, F/M, Forced, Forced Orgasm, I'll add more tags as I go but this is what's going to be included in the first few chapters, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Murder Kink, Porn With Plot, Rape, Rough Sex, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Serial Killer Sam Winchester, Serial Killer Winchesters (Supernatural), Smut, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Wincest - Freeform, murder fucking, there's going to be some fucked up shit in here, this is going to be really intense guys please be careful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexualwincest/pseuds/sexualwincest
Summary: "The losses in the house fire were the fundamental beginning moments of the story of Sam and Dean. The house fire was the first acid trip for Manson and Sadie Mae. The house fire was the first bank robbery for Bonnie and Clyde. The house fire started something bloody, something violent, and something undoubtedly beautiful."Sam and Dean aren't regular brothers. They were never destined to be. An unbreakable bond was sealed between them in the flames of a fire in 1983. The fire did something else to them, as well. It did something evil. The trauma of it left the brothers with a sinful love. Not only for each other, but for killing.In this story, Sam and Dean don't kill the monsters. They are the monsters.





	Psychotically, Irrationally, Erotically Codependent

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings and tags for this! While the first chapter is tame, the story's going to get graphic fairly quickly. I plan to have the next chapter published within a week.

_November 2nd, 1983_

Dean Winchester awakens to the sound of his mother’s screams. He is only four years old, but he knows enough about the world to realize that if someone is screaming, it means danger. He pushes the bed sheets aside and hurriedly climbs out of bed, his pace quickening even further as the screaming gets louder. When he pushes the door to his room open, he feels the heat even before he sees the leaping flames.

He panics, rendered completely unable to move. He can do nothing but stare at the fire as it roars on; as it turns his mother’s screams into blood curdling shrieks; as it burns its way towards his room. He’s in such a state of shock that he is unable even to scream. His voice is trapped inside his chest, just as he is trapped inside this house.

He finally finds it in him to move when the fire burns so unbearably hot that his survival instincts are forced to kick in. He’s running down the hallway towards his parents’ room when he runs into his father, who is carrying a small bundle of blankets. He breathes a small sigh of relief; his father is the strongest man he knows, and he trusts him to get them out of this. His relief vanishes, however, when he looks up and sees that the older man’s face is stained with tears. Dean feels his heart go cold. His dad never cries.

“Mommy,” Dean whispers, looking away so he doesn’t have to look at the raw image of sorrow painted by teardrops on the other man’s face. He hadn’t realized until this very moment that the cries had ceased, but now he is all too aware. He opens his eyes again, not bothering to ask because he already knows the answer. His mother is dead.

His father is looking at the ground, refusing to meet his son’s eyes. “A candle in our room...it caught the curtains on fire...your mother, she...the flames…”

Dean will never forget the look in his father’s eyes when they finally met his. It’s the most heart wrenching thing he’d seen in his four years, and it will remain the most heart wrenching thing he’ll see for years to come. He’s trying to think of something to say when he sees his dad’s eyes widen in fear. He looks behind him, and sees that the fire is only a matter of a foot or two away. He gasps, then tugs on his father’s arm, pulling him towards the staircase that isn’t too far ahead of them.

John stays stone still.

“Come on dad, we need to go!” Dean pulls on his father’s sleeve harder this time, but John still won’t budge.

“I’ll meet you outside,” his dad says, smiling shakily at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says, already stepping away, anxious to get out of harm’s way as soon as possible.

His father extends his own arms, shoving the bundle, that Dean can now hear is crying, into Dean’s. “Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don’t look back.”

“But dad, when are you--”

His dad cuts him off. “Now, Dean, go!”

Dean obeys, turning on his heels and barreling down the staircase as fast as he is able to. He’s tempted to look behind him as he pushes the door open and runs outside, but he remembers what his father said to him. _Take your brother outside...Don’t look back._ He swallows hard and represses the urge, still running although he’s now safe from the inferno raging inside his home. He keeps running until he reaches the end of the lawn; until he’s far away enough from the fire to no longer feel the heat.

  
He is able to fight the urge to look back no longer; he is all too aware that his father is still in the building. He turns just in time to watch the fire break out of the windows of his room. He watches it engulf the front porch; roaring out through the door that he’d left open for his father. He chokes back a sob, trying to be strong like his dad always taught him to be.

  
He knows it now. He knows it as soon as the fire rips through the only safe exit left in the house. Their father isn’t coming. Both of their parents are dead.  
Dean clutches a crying Sammy close to him as he watches their old life burn. Tears blur his vision, and time seems to slow. He knows logically that it can’t be long before the fire trucks and ambulances arrive, but to him it feels like hours. A policeman walks over to where Dean’s now burying his face in Sammy’s blankets and rocking back and forth on the grass.

  
“Son,” the policeman says, his voice faltering. “Your parents—“

  
“I know,” Dean cut him off, words filled with anger. “They’re dead. Sammy and I are alone. I know.”

  
The older man recoils, surprised at just how much anger and upset is packed into this small child. “Son, I’m going to need you to get up.”

  
“I’m not your son!” Dean spits. “I’m no one’s son,” his voice hitches, anger turning into something else. Something softer, yet something more detrimental. His breathing quickens, and he looks down at his brother. “We’re no one’s sons.”

  
The policeman blinks, then speaks in a sympathetic tone. “You boys are not alone. We’re going to take care of you both.”  
Dean rolls his eyes.

The oldest Winchester boy would later come to realize that although the statement seemed entirely false, it was only partially so. The boys as a pair may have been alone. Individually, however, they were the farthest thing from alone possible. They were closer than they had ever been before.

  
The losses in the house fire were the fundamental beginning moments of the story of Sam and Dean. The house fire was the first acid trip for Manson and Sadie Mae. The house fire was the first bank robbery for Bonnie and Clyde. The house fire started something bloody, something violent, and something undoubtedly beautiful.  
Who knows if they would have turned out the way they did if their parents had lived. But there's something no one can deny: going through something like that, even at such young ages, bonds people. It bonded Sam and Dean so tightly that it was as if the fire itself had fused their skin together.


End file.
